The Selkie
by TwixtNightAndMorn
Summary: "Now this was a long time ago; I was living as a lay brother in the Chantry in Kirkwall. Well, what should happen one night, but I should see a selkie..."  Short story about F!Hawke and Sebastian. M for lemon in chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

"Tell us a story, Da!" He laughs at the two sets of small arms clinging to him as he tries to deposit his sons on their bed for the night, rolling his own body over the mattress in a playful way in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge them. Instead, the little boys scramble on top of their father, pinning him down as they tickle at his chest with their quick fingers.

"Come on, Da!" Colm begs, tickling harder. "One story, please?"

Little Tam, still too small to form full sentences adds his own voice to the din, a song more musical than any their father ever heard sung in the Chantry. "Story, Da, story!"

Twitching against the nubile fingers, he finally grabs one boy under each arm, swinging them in a circle before depositing each small blue-eyed head on a pillow. "Under the covers, then, and I'll tell you a grand one." With grins of triumph, the two boys scramble into the bed, and he smoothes the down-filled quilts over them, then seats himself on the edge of the mattress, back against the post as he crosses his long arms over his chest in a thoughtful pose.

"Now this was a long time ago, my lads, long before the two of you were ever thought of. I was living as a lay brother in the Chantry in Kirkwall, but from time to time I would go out to the Wounded Coast after vespers to practice my shooting by the light of the stars. Well, what should happen one night, but I should see a selkie..."

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><p><em>Watch the ocean rolling in,<br>Moonlight tripping off the waves,  
>Along the bays.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Sight. Aim. Breathe. Release. <em>With a _thunk_, the arrowhead buried itself in the thin crack between two boulders he was aiming at, leaving the shaft and fletches to quiver slightly in the soft silver glow of the midsummer moonlight. More than likely, he'd have been better off practicing somewhere safer, within Kirkwall proper at this hour of the night, but after so long trapped within the stone walls of the Chantry, listening to the sounds of summer as they floated through the thick doors and high windows, the wild boy of years past that still existed inside him was threatening to mutiny.

So, with the permission of the Grand Cleric, he'd swapped his fancy white armour with a simple set of brown hunting leathers and set off into the rising moon, to this lonely bay heavy with the clean scents of sea water and night blooming jasmine, stress and cares swept away with the ocean breeze, pulse dancing happily to the sound of a young seal barking with joy as it romped in the surf.

With a steady hand, Sebastian worked the arrow back and forth gently as he knelt down in the dry bracken, taking care not to damage either the head or the shaft. True, neither would be very expensive to replace, but then the shaft would not have been carved by his grandfather while teaching him, nor the head forged by the master smith of Starkhaven, with the crest of the royal house engraved on it. Such a silly thing, to mourn for a bit of wood, metal, and string, but he had to admit the ice around his heart had melted slightly since that girl, Hawke, brought his grandfather's bow back to him.

Down by the waves, the seal's barks changed to laughter, _human_ laughter, and he froze on his knees in the grass, not believing his ears. But there it came again, not the loud, stuttered jabbering of an animal, but the pure, dulcet tones of a young woman, clearly enjoying herself. Carefully, he snuck to the edge of the bluff in a crouch to keep his head from being silhouetted against the blue-black void, and peered down at the shoreline. Rock-strewn sand glittered in the cold light of the midsummer moon, mirroring the star-strewn sky above and the equally radiant sea beyond; the long beach empty, as it had been an hour prior. No, wait - there, beside a bush heavy with fragrant coastal flowers, lay a large, dark bundle of some sort, almost like a messy tangle of discarded clothes... or a single discarded hide.

With the silence of a wraith, Sebastian slipped down the hillside, flitting from shadow to shadow like the deer who wandered the woods of his homeland in the cool dark of spring mornings. Unclasping the strap holding his bow and quiver over his tunic, the exiled prince lay them inside the small cave created by two of the monstrous boulders leaning against each other at the bottom of the cliff. Like a wary hunter he stalked the darkness beneath the overhang, but in truth he felt he should be scurrying like a mouse chasing after a lost piece of cheese, hoping to avoid notice of the cat.

Part of his mind was scolding him for the juvenile flare of glee within in chest at the thought of seeing one of the mystical sea creatures of Grandda's tales, but the rest was too caught up in the moment, fair glowing with excitement to know that, perhaps just this once, a childhood dream would come true. Slowly, he lowered himself to his hands and knees, crawling the last few spans to the bush, not daring to breath until his hands closed over the shadow he had seen from the top of the bluff.

Fine fur, almost like that of a rabbit, lay smooth and soft under his fingers, and as he dug down with his nails, he felt the leather-like skin underneath, still damp with sea water. With a rush of wings in his stomach, he traced his hands up to what he thought were small curved ears, then a short, square muzzle set with long wiry whiskers. Behind him came a large splashing sound, and he turned to see a dark head breaking the water, long strands of jet black tossed backwards to float around a face, small and pale in the moonlight. Small, and pale, and beautiful, and _perfect_. Gathering the skin to his chest, the archer-prince stood to face her...

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><p>AN: Standard "I don't own Sebastian, BioWare does; I'm just playing with his mind" disclaimer. Lyrics are from "The Selkie" by Damh the Bard.


	2. Chapter 2

"My grandfather told me about selkies when I was your age, Colm." he says with a smile, gently rapping his oldest son on the nose with a square-tipped forefinger. "It's rare for them to be seen anymore; most have fled the Free Marches to find safer waters. But you never can be certain a seal is just a seal, for there's always a chance it may just be a selkie what's out to see the world. It's only when they think they're alone that selkies shed their hides and walk on dry land like us, for no creature is more beautiful to a man than a selkie woman in human form. Grandda once warned me if I saw a selkie woman, no other woman would ever catch my eye again. Only then did I learn how right he was..."

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><p><em>Then out from the water,<br>From out of the waves,  
>Two eyes are looking at me.<em>

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><p>At first she didn't see him, his selkie, too busy diving and dancing among the waves in her human form, laughing that same musical peal as she tossed handfuls of water to the stars only to have them slick back down over her pale skin so she glittered like a diamond in the darkness. "Maker," he whispered as she slid her body halfway out of the brine to twist backwards and dive back down, her long hair flowing around her body like a rope of seaweeds in a way that only drew his eyes to places they should never have gone. Surfacing again, she wiped the hair from her face, starting to push her way back to shore when she suddenly caught sight of him, freezing in place with her torso still exposed to his hungry eyes.<p>

"Who's there?" the selkie called out in her sweet voice, folding her arms across her chest at his intense stare, ducking her head slightly to try and see him where he stood in the shadows. "Sebastian?"

"_Hawke?_" A splash sounded as she hauled herself onto dry land, footsteps crunching along the sand as she approached him, covering herself as best she could with hair and hands. Flustered, he clutched the hide garment tighter and spun away, heart beating like the wings of a bee as he tried to erase the images of her gallivanting in the water before him, wearing nothing but the silvery light of the full moon.

Quickly, aware of the rebellion such thoughts were inciting within his loins, his mind fumbled for verses from the Chant. _In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied..._ He was burning, but he knew the way to satisfy it, it would be so simple... _No! _Focus_, man! With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon you..._

"Now that you've enjoyed your little show, may I have my robe back please?" With a guilty grimace, he turned on his heel, practically flattening the smaller woman as he came face to face with her, arms circling around her waist to keep her from falling back onto the sand, the hide caught between them the only thing separating her wet, naked body from his own clothing.

_Um, um, um... From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. _"Stop thinking about the dirtiest pieces of the Chant there are!" Heat flared beneath his hands and he suddenly realized not only had he spoken aloud, but that there was no way his body's rebellion could have been missed by his companion: his pants felt so tight that he could practically hear the seams of the leather tearing with the strain. _I want her I want her I want her... _

"Bugger it all!" he exclaimed, setting Hawke firmly on her feet as he marched off towards the ocean, kicking off his boots and tossing his tunic over his head, stripping off all his clothes until he was dressed in nothing but his smalls.

Without a backward glance at the woman, he dove into the icy water, swimming out several lengths to try and chill the lust from his veins.

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><p>AN: Standard "I don't own Sebastian, BioWare does; I'm just playing with his mind" disclaimer. Lyrics are from "The Selkie" by Damh the Bard.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now, lads, there's something you must remember about selkies: they're born to the water, and the ocean will never claim them, for they know all too well how to swim to keep from being caught in its traps. Men are not the same, and many a time when the sea tastes our flesh it wants to keep us for itself, and will drag us down to the briny deep where we stay forever. Fool that I was then, I watched my selkie dancing in the waves and thought the water would welcome me as eagerly as it did her. Luckily, my selkie had a good heart, and felt pity for a poor man blinded into stupidity by her beauty; otherwise, none of us would be here today..."

* * *

><p><em>Like a mirror between the worlds,<br>I catch the reflection of a star,  
>But it slips through my fingers.<em>

* * *

><p>Not even the chill of the water seemed to help dull his need, and he swam on, forcing himself further and further from the shore, until the moon seemed closer than land, and for a moment he wondered if the Maker, in all his divine mercy, might not be kind enough to smite him with a lightning bolt then and there. Or Hawke, even; he'd seen her strike down foes with well placed tempests several times over. Grunting slightly with exertion and self-disgust, he sighed, taking one more pull with his long arms well muscled from years of bending a bow. <em>I should go back and apologize; what does one even say to apologize for such a thing? I'm sorry, I thought you were a selkie, and so I wanted to watch you swim naked under the stars while I fair burned with lust? <em>Giving another sigh, he stopped swimming and lowered his legs into the water, only to have them yanked back out beneath him by the pull of the current.

Struggling to regain his balance, he fell back into the ocean, face beneath the waves, flailing his arms uselessly as a windmill in a monsoon trying to reach land once more. The more he kicked and swiped his hands, the more his lungs burned, until he managed to break his head through to the surface for one brief, sweet gasp of air. "Sebastian!" he heard screamed from shore, the laughter gone from Hawke's voice as it rang across the waves. "Don't try to swim against it! You need to..." But then he was sucked under again, spinning like a doodlebug, starlight mockingly shinning above his fingers in the odd angles only seen when viewed through water. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, just felt his exhausted muscles and lungs burning as he sank. _Blessed be the souls of the faithful that they ascend to Your right hand..._

Something soft but decidedly solid in this world of liquid closed around his chest, pulling hard, and he was free, face breaching the waves as he greedily filled his aching lungs. "Damn you, Vael! Didn't anyone ever teach you not to try and fight a rip current? You fight it and you drown from exhaustion!" He could hear the tears under the anger in the mage's words, but it took him a moment to blink the sting of salt from his face, before he could see them streaking her pale cheeks and turning the normally deep blue eyes red. "Did you think that was _funny_? How many more am I supposed to watch die? _How many_?" Her voice broke with that, the entirety of her body trembling against his side as the fear and adrenaline that had given her the strength to rescue him ebbed from her veins.

"Morgan," he whispered as his feet hit the soft sandy bottom, toes curling into the mud to anchor them both as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, gently cradling her against him as she shook with the force of her sobs. It was a first, him calling her by her given name, at least aloud; more times than he wanted to admit both name and woman had haunted his thoughts and dreams. "I'm here, Morgan, and safe. Everything is fine, hush now." Acutely aware of the feeling of her naked breasts, nipples pert from the cold water, stroking against his bare chest, desire welled in him with a fire that scorched his loins. Not bothering to think, he cupped the back of her head, angling it so he could easily lean down to slant his lips against hers. Beyond the salt, she tasted of mint and sugar, like the sweet treats he and Flora used to seek out along the merchants of Hightown in midsummer, that sticky candy pulled and formed into chewy balls that stuck to teeth and coated tongues with flavour that lasted for hours. Feverishly, he kissed her harder, letting loose a moan when she opened her mouth to his insistent nudges, their tongues dancing across each other in seductive caresses which did nothing to restore his control.

The need for breath forced their mouths apart, but they kept hold of each other, still pressed skin to skin in the moonlit sea. Resting his cheek on the small black head, he stroked his hands up and down her back, eyes closed as he thought back. "When I heard you laughing in the water, saw you dance among the waves, I thought you some selkie come to play a night as a woman, for no human could be as beautiful as you. And what human woman could draw a drowning man from the rip all on her own? I want you, _a selkie_," he whispered, slipping back into the archaic language of Starkhaven that his grandfather had used when telling him tales. "One night among the waves, one night of you with me, Morgan the selkie, then I'll give you back your skin, and we'll all return to what we are."

White as death, she looked up at him, eyes unreadable for a moment, then pressed herself even harder against him again, melding her mouth to his as her hands slid under the water to his breechclout. Impatiently, he lifted his legs to help her pull the fabric away, tossing his saturated smalls on to the beach with the rest of their clothing. Growling possessively, he crushed her to him, lifting her small body out of the waves for a moment as he struggled against the breakers to where the cliff extended beyond the beach into the water. Pressing her back against the warm stone as he bit her neck gently, Sebastian brushed his hardened member against the woman's inner thigh, gratified to hear noses of frustration tear from her throat as she squirmed to reach down and stroke him. "Nay, _a selkie_." he told her, pulling her hands up to drape over his shoulders, brogue thick with his lust. "You'll unmake me before we even begin."

"Sebastian," she whimpered, head lolling back to strike the stone with a _thud_ as he teased her rosy buds with teeth and tongue, keeping her held against the stone with one strong hand as the other slid between her legs. Something between a moan and a cry burst from the woman, stance widening as he sought her core. Even with the icy touch of the sea water, she was hot and slick with need against his probing fingers, and he groaned loudly as she let loose another cry when he gently touched the thin membrane that marked her as still a maid. It would hurt when he took her, he knew, but to stop now would kill him as assuredly as the rip would have drowned him not an hour prior. "Please," she begged into his ear, sliding one thigh against his hip to try and pull him closer, nails scraping against his broad, damp shoulders. "Take me, my prince."

Fixing his mouth back over hers again, he dropped both his hands beneath the water, sliding them down her smooth skin until her reached her knees. With a gentle press behind both joints, he wrapped her legs around his waist, swallowing a deep breath before he slowly guided himself into her tight warmth. Mewling cries broke from her as he rocked his hips to sheath himself more deeply; she dug her nails into his back, face hidden in his shoulder, teeth biting into the flesh to keep from crying out again. "No, look at me, _a selkie_; I want to see you enjoy this." Pinning her against the rock with his thrusts, he reached up and pulled her face free, dragging her gaze to his, some primal, masculine part of him rumbling with satisfaction to see her blurry-eyed with pleasure. Blood wept from her torn maidenhead, staining the water around them with crimson trails, but her body welcomed him, hips raising off the rock by instinct to receive his strokes, mouths hungrily seeking out each other, testing, tasting. With a groan his thrusts became harder, and she cried out again, an inhuman scream not unlike that of a circling seabird as it sought food among the waves.

"Morgan, _a selkie_, _a thaisce_..." he managed between gasps, finally digging his fingers into her hips to hold her still as he thrust deep one last time, sagging against his lover's body as he found completion within her, spurting his seed to coat the walls of her womb. Limp and nearly boneless in his arms, she rested her cheek against his bare chest as he carried her back to shore, then gently lay her on her robe as he gathered his own clothes to form his own side of the pallet to lay on. Curling around his selkie, he pulled the dark silk head on to his shoulder to stay until the dawn.

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><p>AN: Standard "I don't own Sebastian, BioWare does; I'm just playing with his mind" disclaimer. Lyrics are from "The Selkie" by Damh the Bard.

The following Gaelic phrases appear in this story (sorry if my Gaelic sucks, I'm an Italian from San Diego, I only speak English and Spanish):

_A selkie_: "my selkie" 

_A thaisce_: "my treasure"


	4. Chapter 4

"So what happened after the selkie saved you from the water, Da?" Colm asks, little face scrunched up in interest but pale as he fights falling asleep like Tam, who is already curled in a ball, thumb securely in his mouth.

Sebastian's eyes focus on the far wall, looking beyond the stone, beyond the years and miles, back to the moon-lit bay of Kirkwall what seems like ages ago. "Selkies can only live on land as humans for at night by choice, so that night we spent together was all she could have unless I took her hide and hid it till my dying day. But though I loved her greatly, she seemed most happy free, and I could not force her to cage herself in an airless vault of stone and wood when she could wander the Waking Sea as she saw fit. So at dawn we parted, and never again did I return to that beach, for fear I would see my selkie again, and be too weak to let her go. I found out later that for almost a year she came back night after night, waiting in the waves to see if I would return to her; that was something my grandda never told me - as much as a man never recovers from seeing the beauty of a selkie, neither will a selkie recover from the sight of a man she has heart enough to save. Instead, another man saw her waiting for me one night, and stole her hide so she could not leave him. _Mo chéadsearc, stór mo chroí_, became another man's selkie bride, and I hated them both for it."

His oldest son frowns at him, blinking his eyes like a large, sleepy owl. "You shouldn't hate a lady, Da. It isn't right for a prince to hate ladies."

Smiling at his son, he gently smoothes the quilt. "I wasn't much a prince back then, _a stóirín_; but you're right, I shouldn't have hated her for having no choice but to do what the one who had her hide told her she must. Hate is a very strong thing, Colm, and once it takes root in your heart it is almost impossible to dig out without killing yourself first. But there is something even stronger than hate, do you know what that is? Love, Colm. Nothing is as strong as love. And when the man who stole my selkie's hide destroyed the Chantry, killed the Grand Cleric, and tried to turn her against me, she looked at me with her eyes so full of love and I knew she wouldn't do it. It nearly killed her to disobey, and because of it she'd never be able to return to the sea, but my selkie maid was mine again." Gently, Sebastian stands from the bed, stooping low to kiss his sleeping sons on the forehead before snuffing the candles and heading to his own chamber.

In the low nursing chair beside the fire, the Princess of Starkhaven sits with their newborn daughter in her arms, cooing gently as the babe drowsily nuzzles her breast above the loosened neck of a thin cotton nightdress. "Come now, Thina, just a little more. There's my girl..." Standing in the doorway, her husband watches silently for a moment, then kneels behind the chair, sweeping the curtain of black silk away to rest his head against his lady's neck. "Did you tell them a story?"

"Aye. I was telling them of the time I saw a selkie near the Wounded Coast, and how I swore to never let her go."

"I love you, Sebastian Vael."

He takes the sleeping babe from her arms and lays it in the cradle beside their bed, brushing a kiss against the baby's wrinkled nose before he returns to his wife draws her to her feet, slipping the gown down her shoulders as he tastes his way from collarbone to lips. "I love you, Morgan. _Tá grá agam duit_, _a selkie_."

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><p><em>So I run into the waves,<br>W__here my Selkie is waiting for me,  
><em>_And together we swim.  
><em>_She takes me into her world,  
><em>_Where I am her King and she is my Queen,  
><em>_I have always lived here._

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><p>AN: Standard "I don't own Sebastian, BioWare does; I'm just playing with his mind" disclaimer. Lyrics are from "The Selkie" by Damh the Bard. Special thanks to AmandaKitswell, for once again being an awesome beta and sister (even when threatening to delete every screenshot I have of Anders if I didn't finish this, love you too, Manda), and to my bestie Chris for feeding me lines that got me going again in the middle of writer's block!

And some interesting facts: I realized when I did some more research that I was actually describing California Sea Lions and not fur seals (apparently, seals don't bark), but since I grew up in California and saw the sea lions all the time and this is me pretty much writing about my beach there out of homesickness, I'm leaving it that way. Besides, who knows what seals are like in the Free Marches?

The proper way to get free of a rip current is to swim parallel to the shore towards a place where waves are breaking, because that's where you'll be pulled back towards land, instead of out to the ocean. And you will drown from exhaustion if you try to fight it, so don't.

The following Gaelic phrases appear in this story (sorry if my Gaelic sucks, I'm an Italian from San Diego, I only speak English and Spanish):

_A selkie:_ "my selkie"

_A thaisce:_ "my treasure"

_Mo chéadsearc, stór mo chroí: _"my true love, treasure of my heart"

_A stóirín_: "little darling"

_Tá grá agam duit, a selkie_: "I love you, my selkie."


End file.
